Atticus continues his meal as the group engages in normal conversation amongst themselves. Much to his surprise, he's joined a group with almost zero effort on his part, and right before things potentially become difficult. Meanwhile, the silent young mage Zyra, who is sitting next to him, can't help but throw occasional glances at the stone-faced knight.

Later, everyone has finished their meal and are returning outside to set up their tents, first by retrieving them from their horses. Coincidentally, Annaliese is placed next to Erik's horse, a magnificent white steed with a straight, silky-looking mane. The archer notices the bow and quiver of arrows on Annaliese's, and for the first time, strikes up a conversation with the knight of his own accord.

“You're an archer as well, knight?” He asks in his calm, sophisticated tone.

“Only in part. Why?” Atticus responds.

“Are you good?”

“Reasonably so, I'd say.”

Erik grins and his tone becomes less cold. “Once we find an opportune moment, I would like to shoot with you. Would that be alright?”

“I don't see why not.” Atticus responds, partly surprised at the sudden invitation.

“I quite enjoy archery in competition. It would be nice to see what a Rhodish knight is capable of.”

“Then I hope I don't disappoint.”

Seemingly ecstatic about the prospect of having someone to shoot with, Erik retrieves his tent and bedroll with a smile of anticipation on his face before removing his horse's saddle for the night. Kellar, Veros, and Royd all do the same and then leave to pick out a spot near the barracks to set themselves up. The knight stays behind to cut and feed an apple to Annaliese, as a flavorful treat for a job well done for the day. He's interrupted, however, by an unexpected person: Zyra. She looks up at him with clear, resolute blue eyes, and he isn't sure how he should ask her if she requires something of him.

“Threcia.” She suddenly says in a feminine, but monotone voice. The single word surprises the knight, not just because of the fact she spoke, but because of the word itself too. “You're from Threcia, aren't you?”

“How do you know that?” Atticus responds with clear surprise, implying she's right.

“I've seen your armor in books at the university.” She explains while brushing her long, disheveled auburn bangs from her eyes. “You're not Threcian military, either – but part of the royal guard. Correct?”

“I wasn't aware that textbooks in your university taught you of the Threcian royal guard.” The knight remarks in a semi-annoyed tone. He didn't wish to have his origin guessed so easily, but he quietly admits to himself that he's guilty of wearing the black iron suit to begin with.

“Threcia is the birthplace of pyromancy. Of course they would teach us of the place.” Zyra states matter-of-factly. “Pyromancy is deeply ingrained into Threcian culture, is it not?”

“It is.” The knight concedes to her questions. He might as well; she's correct anyway. Thus, he converses while feeding Annaliese her apple slices. “Pyromancy is taught to anyone who wishes to learn it. There's a university there that teaches other types of magic, but pyromancy is the most accessible – even children can learn it. They're proud of it.”

“Did you learn it?” She asks with a detectable amount of eagerness.

“Yes, I did. But once I joined the royal guard, I set it aside to work on my swordsmanship and archery skills.”

“I see.” Her enthusiastic demeanor turns into curiosity. “But you do know how to perform pyromancy, yes?”

“It's been quite a while, so I might be rusty, but yes.” Atticus feeds the last of the apple to Annaliese and throws the core away. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Zyra answers as her gaze falls to the ground. “One of the reasons I'm out here is to refine my pyromancy. I figure it would be helpful to receive some assistance in that from someone with prior experience.”

“I don't think there's anything I can teach you that your masters at the university have not.” The knight picks up his bedroll and tent. “But if you think I can help you, then I'll try.”

A small, satisfied smile comes to the mage's face and she gives a grateful nod before Atticus walks to the spot near the barracks the other men have picked out for camping. They were all looking on at the knight and pyromancer talking to each other, and Kellar approaches him in confusion.

“Oi, knight. What'd the girl say to you?”

Atticus notices the four of them seem very intrigued for some reason. “She asked me more questions about my armor.” He bluntly states. It's not necessarily a lie, but does leave out some details.

“No kiddin'?” Kellar slowly reels back. “I'm surprised the girl finally found her tongue for the first time since she asked to join us up here. Barely uttered a sound after that.”

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Their curiosity somewhat satisfied, the men return to organizing themselves; setting up their temporary homes for the night. Atticus is a bit surprised to hear that Zyra approached them for the journey. He had expected circumstances to be the other way around. He internally remarks how the girl has been full of surprises in the mere minutes he's known her.

“I won't give her any grief for it.” Royd says while laying out his bedroll. “Having a mage with us is something that undoubtedly paints other Mistwalker parties green with envy.”

“Indeed.” Veros chimes in while sitting on the ground in front of his tent, already finished with his task. “Having magic with us can possibly open doors on our mission that we couldn't otherwise access. For all we know, it could be necessary for actually destroying the source of the mist.”

“Why exactly are there so few mages becoming Mistwalkers?” Atticus can't help but ponder aloud.

“There's a multitude of reasons.” Veros replies. “Due to the barrier using so many of the university's arcane crystals, there's only a fraction of the number of mages being taught right now, so they might be forgoing venturing into the fog so they don't risk losing mages more often than they can graduate. A lot of mages come from upper class families, so they have no reason to become Mistwalkers for the money, either. Some might simply refuse out of spite because of the barrier using the university's crystals.”

“Well, that's a bit selfish.” Kellar interjects. “What else are we supposed to do, let the mist spread so their precious crystals stay in the university?”

“Some would make the argument that if they had all of their crystals at their disposal, they would have worked together to figure out a solution by now.” Veros retorts.

“There's no guarantee of that.” Kellar waves off the idea. “The grandmaster has already admitted that there's no mention of anything like this mist in any of their records before. They don't know how to deal with this.”

Veros strokes his goatee and looks at the ground pensively. “That strikes a bit of unease into me, if I'm being honest. Grandmaster Fyorin is possibly the most learned man in Yhordran, with the most extensive library of the continent's written history available to him, yet even he doesn't know what we're dealing with.”

“Pretty damn discouraging.” Kellar solemnly utters. “But then again, just because the mist is something new, doesn't mean the source of it is.”

“How do you figure?” Veros asks.

“The mist itself might be new and unknown to us, but what if it's from some sort of magic origin that we do know about, used only in a different manner?”

Veros ponders again. “I guess that's a possibility. But we can't really go into Armasstadt solely on expectations based on our own conjecture. We just have to go there and improvise.”

“Fair enough.” Kellar quickly concedes to the point.

Zyra finally arrives and begins to set up her own modest tent, and Atticus begins to shed the pieces of his armor in preperation for sleep, unwittingly revealing the many scars on his torso to his new comrades, who are surprised at the sight.

“By Galliford's beard, boy!” Royd exclaims. “How many battles have you seen?”

The knight realizes the situation he's landed himself in, but unfortunately it's something that couldn't be ignored to begin with if he's to travel with them. Thus, he reluctantly answers in a purposely vague, but still hopefully adequately informative manner.

“Most of these aren't from real battles. Just unfortunate encounters with shady people.”

“Life must be hard in Rhodanion, then.” The massive blonde warrior remarks.

“In some places, yes.” The knight puts on a cotton shirt to hopefully keep the conversation to a minimum by concealing his body. He looks in Zyra's direction in time to catch her swinging her head away from him and hastily returning to the construction of her tent.

Later, the obscured sun is totally behind the western horizon, and the impenetrable dark, dark blues of night take over. The six-man band of Mistwalkers still engage in casual conversation, with Veros, Kellar, and Royd being the majority participants. They embrace the warmth of a modest bonfire constructed by Royd and lit by Zyra by a somewhat strained pointing of her fingers. The pyromancer and dark knight are silently sitting next to each other, but spend their time trying to stop themselves from throwing glances at one another like they were doing at dinner in the dining hall.

Atticus quietly meditates on the progress he's made in this first day of his misson, especially his sudden recruitment into the group of Mistwalkers sitting around him, who invited him at their own volition, something he wasn't expecting them to do. An even bigger surprise was the mage's guess of his origin, given away by the appearance of his armor. However, he feels that if he truly wanted to keep a low profile while in Yhordran, he wouldn't have kept the black iron suit, but he didn't want to abandon it. While ruminating on the day, Kellar brings up tomorrow's plans.

“So, how are we going to cut through Levinburg tomorrow?” He asks, directing the question towards Veros.

“Levinburg has a few wide, spacious streets that we can use to our benefit.” Veros begins to elaborate. “It'd be best to avoid narrow paths and alleys, considering our horses. We'll just need to keep our eyes out for undead; we don't want to be blindsided. Main Street goes directly from the south gate, which we'll enter from, to the north gate, where we'll exit. Shouldn't be too difficult, nor take too long.”

“Assumin' they left the street open during the initial havoc. The path to the north gate could be blocked off.” Kellar remarks.

“Possibly, but even so, there are multiple exits to the north that we can use.” Veros says with a measured amount of self-assurance. “All in all, we should still make it to the next checkpoint by sunset.”

“Is it not possible to go around?” Asks the knight, who admitted to being unfamiliar with the land earlier.

“Not without going very, very far out of our way.” Veros replies. “Levinburg sits on a small island that divides the Tumarda River, which is nearly two miles wide this far inland, and far too deep for our horses to travel across. The only way we would go around is by going all the way to Lake Hyperion – which the river connect to – fifteen miles west, and going around that. We would end up spending the entire day going perpendicular to our initial path and not be able to make it to the second checkpoint before it got dark.”

Atticus agrees it would be extremely inconvenient, as it would not only waste the day, but it would also force them to either travel at night or camp out beyond the safe boundaries of a checkpoint. They're already on the right path to go directly from Zenith Gate to Armasstadt, as it's practically a straight line between the two. They have no real reason to take any detours or scenic routes unless it was the only viable option.

With an important second day ahead of them, the group soon takes a much-needed rest while the night is still respectably young.